Posthumous words, yet the man remains alive,
Not long for this world but still waits for dawn to arrive.
His life, is lost, as is, his hope.
Now he sees his world through a kaleidoscope.
Yet he lives as if… He lives… as if.
Scarlet clouds drift through unfamiliar skies
Excreta, mucous and saliva drips, as his dreams go by.
Life with its double-edged sword
Hacks away at his hard earned reward
Yet he lives as if… He lives… as if.
As if life was honest, and worth the trust
As if life had promised, to be true and just
Or didn’t carry a ball and chain
Hadn’t married laughter to pain
As if – to exist was worth the risk.
Mere fragments in his mind, a fracture to his soul,
Dependence and time are all he has now he’s old
His back is arched in agony
As he lives through the death of his-story.
Yet he lives as if… He lives… as if
As if life was fair, and worth the sweat
As if life cared, now he can only forget
Or didn’t force us onto our knees
Betrothed itself to disease
As if...
As if there was a reason for this
reduction to psychosis.
As if -
to exist
was
worth
the
ris
k.



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